Holding My Last Breath
by Exploded Pen
Summary: “And that’s why I’m fighting,” said Trip softly. “You won’t last five minutes. You can barely breathe as it is.”


**000 Disclaimer, I own nothing at all 000 Well, this was originally a song fic set to Evanescence's My Last Breath, due to the no song fic rule going round now I took the lyrics out, but anyone wanting to see the original version can see it either on my website or at my livejournal (links are on my profile) hope you enjoy :) 000**

"You can't do it," said Malcolm through gritted teeth. "I won't let you."

Trip just smiled tiredly and continued his methodical check of Malcolm's injuries. "You're in no shape to stop me." Malcolm hissed in pain as Trip probed a particularly sensitive spot.

"I can do it," Malcolm protested. "It's my job, I have to protect you, you have to stay, Enterprise needs you more than me!"

"Don't ever say that!" Trip yelled suddenly his face inches away from Malcolm's face. "Never value life differently. There is no different value on life! There is no different value!"

"Then why are you throwing yours away?!" Malcolm yelled back, he immediately regretted it as oxygen suddenly seemed to be in alarmingly short supply. Trip held him till it passed and he was able to draw breath again.

"And that's why I'm fighting," said Trip softly. "You won't last five minutes. You can barely breathe as it is."

"I'll last as long as I have too," said Malcolm stubbornly.

Trip sighed and closed his eyes. Malcolm suddenly reached out and clutched Trip's arm. "Don't." Trip's eyes opened and he gazed for a long time into the ice blue eyes staring back at him. Those eyes pleaded with him, they held a storm of emotion threatening to spill.

The two officers were practically nose to nose, Malcolm propped up against the wall for support, clutching hold of Trip who was kneeling in front of him.

"They'll be coming in a minute," said Trip finally. "You know there's no other choice. If we refuse the next fight we both die. If you fight, you'll die. If I fight…"

"Then you'll die," Malcolm cut in bitterly. "Not much of a choice." He suddenly became aware that Trip was pulling back, in the literal and metaphorical sense. Malcolm's arms flopped back down to the ground as Trip shook free.

The infamous Tucker grin was on his face as Trip stood. "I have absolutely no intention of dying."

"These are trained fighters," Malcolm reminded him, his breathing inexplicably quickening again. He screwed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the pain and just managed to force out a weak "I know six year olds who fight better than you."

Trip laughed. Malcolm managed the barest hint of a smile before it faded.

"Don't do this," Malcolm whispered. "No point in losing both of us…"

"When we were in that shuttlepod, you said you'd rather Enterprise found both of us dead than one alive," Trip spat starting to pace the room agitatedly. "It's the same situation, can't you understand that?"

Malcolm sighed and started to cough again. "Trip...that was different…"

"How?" Trip demanded. "It's the same thing! Except this time it isn't gonna be oxygen deprivation that gets us!"

"Yes, but this time only one of us is dying," Malcolm whispered closing his eyes.

"Malcolm!" Trip roared suddenly. "I am not taking this crap from you! I'm ordering you to have a little faith! No more dying talk! You'll be fine, we'll get out of here, find Enterprise and Phlox'll fix you up good as new!"

Malcolm didn't reply. Trip moved to his side and shook his shoulder gently. "Malcolm? You still with me?"

Malcolm gave the barest nod and Trip heaved a sigh of relief.

"Malcolm, you can barely breathe let alone stand," Trip told him leaning in close. "You wouldn't make it to the arena, I have a chance and I'm gonna take it."

Malcolm felt his eyes moisten. He could feel Trip's hot breath on his cheek. He forced his eyes back open and blinked hurriedly. He was so tired, so very tired, and it was all so unfair.

They both had the sudden knowledge that this was the end. These last few moments would be the last they would ever spend together.

Trip forced a grin onto his face and gripped Malcolm's shoulder tightly a moment. "I'll see you later."

"Don't go," Malcolm begged his voice barely a whisper. "I can do it, I can –"

Trip had already left.

All he could hear was the slow ragged intake and exhale of his own breathing. He wanted desperately to pass out, to get relief from the pain if only for five minutes, but at the same time felt terror at the possibility of allowing himself to fall unconscious.

If he let go, he was more frightened than he cared to admit that he wouldn't ever wake up again.

"Trip, you bastard," he forced out choking.

No one replied.

By now he knew Trip would already be in the arena, holding his head high whilst those bastards, those sick mindless bastards set their best warriors on him.

They had no choice but to fight, fight for their lives, for their freedom. Beat three rounds and they were free to leave.

He had already fought the first two rounds, won both with dire consequences.

A sudden noise to his left attracted his attention tearing him away from his dark thoughts. It couldn't be over already?

But nothing happened.

Moaning softly in agony Malcolm allowed his head to loll back. The rational mind kept ticking over his litany of injuries, weighing up the odds, each time coming up with odds in favour of the warriors.

Trip wasn't going to be coming back.

And it was all his fault.

"Should've been faster," Malcolm murmured to himself, coughing painfully and suddenly feeling a sharp metallic tang at the back of his mouth. It would be so easy to give in… just to let go…

Malcolm pinched himself quickly, the sudden agonising pain working better than any stimulant to keep him awake. He groaned. He couldn't let go.

He thought he could hear something again. A voice in the distance, calling to him. For a second he fancied he could see someone leaning over him, calling his name, but it was so had to concentrate… to hear… and the darkness was so very inviting…

He pinched himself again, forcing himself conscious. He coughed and tasted blood again.

He was running out of time. But then what was Trip always telling him? Be optimistic.

Right. Trip would make it through this. Trip would be alright.

He would wait for Trip, he would make sure Trip was alright, he would see Trip again. He had to wait for Trip. He owed him that much.

Something very definite moved in the cell, and he fancied he could hear a soft booming noise in the distance, but everything sounded odd, like everything had been submerged under water.

The pain had dulled his senses, he realised. He forced his eyes open after suddenly recognising they'd slid shut without permission. There was a person, leaning over him, he couldn't make out their words.

"Trip," he gasped.

But no, the eyes were wrong; instead of the soft blue they were green and boring into his very being as if the strength of their gaze could keep him alive.

No. He'd failed, failed him again.

"I'm sorry, Trip" he gasped out, "I'm so sorry." Something bubbled up in the back of his throat, he was choking, there wasn't enough oxygen, there wasn't enough time, and he failed, failed Trip, failed at everything…

He couldn't stop it as his eyes closed and the world fell to darkness.

"Trip… 'm sorry…"

Warmth. The complete blissful absence of pain.

So this is what being dead felt like. Malcolm felt a sudden wave of guilt sweep across him swamping his initial reaction. He'd failed Trip, he shouldn't be feeling relief.

He forced his eyes open only to close them immediately against the sudden onslaught of light. Mustering his courage he tried again, opening his eyes just a little.

As his eyes adjusted he was able to make blurred shapes and finally… realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

Sickbay.

He was in sickbay.

But how? He was dying back in that cell, blood loss, oxygen deprivation, could barely even make out the person leaning over him with the intense green eyes…

Green eyes? Captain Archer! But how?

In a rush his hearing became sharper and he registered the soft beeping of machines around him and the quiet hum of voices nearby.

He coughed once and saw the blurry outline of someone leaning over him.

"Mal," soft blue eyes connected with his own. "It's about time you woke up, I've been lonely."

It wasn't possible… "Trip," Malcolm forced out.

Trip slid into sharper focus and Malcolm could see he was smiling despite the heavy bruising on his face.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm gasped, horrified to feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "I tried to wait for you." He inhaled sharply feeling several somethings pull in his chest. "Hoped you'd… but couldn't stay awake. Failed… 'm sorry…"

"It's ok," Trip soothed quickly. "Stay calm buddy else you'll ruin all the good Doc's handiwork." He gave him a reassuring smile. "They got us out, you didn't fail, Malcolm. You didn't fail. They got us, it's all gonna be ok. You just rest up."

Malcolm closed his eyes in relief only to panic as he felt Trip shift beside him. "Wait! Don't go…" he trailed off feeling deeply ashamed.

Trip patted his shoulder gently. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

Malcolm finally let himself relax. Trip was alright, he was going to be ok, and they were home.

Everything was going to be ok.

**000 Please review :) 000**


End file.
